


F*cking Heat!

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is kind of a jerk, Fluff, M/M, Swearing, Swesson AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 03:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7204811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Smith's air conditioner is broken on the hottest day of the year. What does he do when the strange man from the elevator offers to fix it for him?<br/>Written for Wincest Love Week summer edition day 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	F*cking Heat!

Dean Smith wiped the sweat from his brow once more. Though an upper level office was an amazing accomplishment, summertime and a broken air conditioner made it seem more like a punishment. He'd called maintenance half an hour ago, but they still hadn't shown up.

 

His outfit was ruined, and would have to be dry cleaned. His hair was flat and gross. And though he knew the sweat would help his detox, he'd need to spend hours in the shower to scrub the stink off. And on top of it all, he had a meeting with some big executives in an hour to go over some regional projections - today was miserable.

 

Though focusing on spreadsheets was nearly impossible with sweat constantly dripping in his eyes, Dean attempted to fill out the numbers and work the calculations until a knock drew his attention. That strange man from the elevator, Sam something or other, stood awkwardly in the doorway with a beat up toolbox.

 

"Um... Broken air conditioner, right?"

 

Dean scowled. "You're not maintenance."

 

"No, I'm IT, but Randy, the maintenance guy, is running himself ragged. Guess there's a problem with a lot of air conditioners today and other stuff. I got off early so I offered to pick up the extra stuff for him."

 

Dean snorted, "Right. I think I'll wait for the real maintenance guy, thanks. I don't want it screwed up any worse than it is already," He snapped, wiping his brow once more.

 

Sam scowled. "Dude, I can fix an air conditioner. It's pretty simple."

 

"I'm not your dude. Thanks but no thanks, kid."

 

Sam straightened to his full height, and he would have been intimidating if not for that floppy puppy hair and awful yellow shirt. "Fine, sweat to death until Randy makes his way up here. He's going floor by floor and he's only on the third. And I'm not a kid." He turned and stormed away, mumbling something about entitled assholes and jerks.

 

Dean frowned at the empty doorway for a long time after Sam left. Surely he was kidding. If the maintenance guy was only on the third floor it'd take a few hours at least to make his way up to the tenth where Dean's office was. By then he'd have given his meeting, and would probably have destroyed this shirt for good.

 

Dean shifted in his chair - why had he insisted on good leather? And grimaced when he felt a fat drop of sweat roll down his spine.

 

Another hour passed with no sign of the maintenance guy. The heat had increased now that the sun was beating down on his window. Dean finished off another bottle of water, grimacing - this could not be any worse.

 

He glanced up at a familiar voice near his doorway. Sam from IT was leaning on the doorframe of the office across from his, laughing.

 

"Yeah, no problem, Mark. Glad I could get it working."

 

Sam quieted, and Dean could hear a muffled reply from Mark; their offices were mostly soundproofed, a blessing, and also a curse.

 

Sam nodded, his shaggy hair bouncing a little. "Yeah, sure, I can help with that." Sam set the tool box down and disappeared back into the office.

 

Dean rose slowly, grimacing at the hot, sticky feeling surrounding his entire body. He loosened his tie before growling and tearing it off, tossing it onto the chair opposite his own.

 

He walked to the doorway and peeked around.

 

Sam was leaned over Mark's shoulder, grinning and pointing something out on the screen.

 

A twinge of jealousy streaked through Dean's stomach, confusing him. What did he have to be jealous about? It wasn't like he was into that overly tall Sasquatch. Or Mark, that guy was twenty years older than him. Despite this, Dean found his fingers biting crescents into his palm, physically fighting the urge to walk into Mark's office and punch him.

 

Sam stood straight and squeezed Mark's shoulder. "Call if you need anything," He said.

 

Dean ducked back into his office as Sam began to walk back to his tools, but he was obviously too slow by Sam's next remark,

 

"Randy come see you yet, Mr. Smith?"

 

Dean cleared his throat and came back into view. Sam began to laugh,

 

"Guess not."

 

"What? What're you laughing at?" Dean looked down at himself and flushed red - redder than the heat was already making him. He was a mess. Enormous sweat stains under his arms and at his throat, even his tan slacks were showing signs of dampness around the waist area. He knew his back was probably soaked as well. When he moved his head, he felt some of his hair fall over his forehead – the gel simply didn’t hold up to a sweat bath.

 

“Fuck you,” He snapped, angrier at himself than at Sam. He turned and stormed back into his office, throwing himself into his chair with enough force to send it – and him – against the wall.

 

“Hey, I can fix your A-C, Dean. Give me half an hour,” Sam said softly from the doorway.

 

“Fuck off,” Dean muttered, rolling back to his desk. He pounded the spacebar to wake up his computer and began to type furiously, slamming the keys down.

 

Sam sighed softly and shut the office door.

 

“What the hell are you doing? Open that!” Dean snapped.

 

“The air conditioning controls are behind the door. I need to shut it to fix it.”

 

“I didn’t ask you to fix it!”

 

The two seemed to be locked in a standoff, neither willing to back down.

 

Finally, Sam sighed, “No, you didn’t. But you’re drenched in sweat, and it’s at least ninety-five in here. You’re going to pass out or get heat stroke if I don’t fix it, and Randy is only on the fifth floor. The heat is screwing up more than the air conditioning around here. Computers, air conditioners, even some of the elevator wiring and automatic doors are messing up. It’s over a hundred and ten out there. Just pretend I’m not here.”

 

Sam turned then and began to pry the small metal box on the wall open. Dean glared at him over his computer, too angry to argue – but too prideful to admit defeat. He turned back to his computer, attempting to ignore Sam.

 

Ignoring Sam turned out to be impossible. The office was silent normally; Dean liked it that way. Sam’s breathing was heavier than his own, and the clicking and clinking of the tools and metal components of the air conditioning controls was making it simply too loud to focus.

 

Dean slapped his hand down on his desk. “Would you quiet down?”

 

Sam looked at Dean over his shoulder. The heat had gotten to him as well by this point, sweat was dripping down his face, flattening his shaggy hair against his forehead and soaking his shirt.

 

“I’m trying to do this as quick as possible, _sir,_ ” Sam snapped. “Maybe you should take a break. I fixed Mark’s air conditioning, you could go sit in his office while I work on this. Or maybe the break room, I fixed that about about an hour ago. Should be a nice frosty sixty degrees in there.”

 

“Unlike you, tech guy, I have real work to do. I can’t just get up and leave like you by-the-hour jack-offs.”

 

Sam sighed and stood straight, throwing his wrench into the metal toolbox with a deafening clang that made Dean wince. “What is your fucking problem with me, man?”

 

“What?” Dean was definitely not in the mood for this crap.

 

“I’ve done nothing but be nice to you since we’ve met and you’re a jerk to me no matter what. I thought it was all of you suits, but the others have actually been grateful for my help. You’re the only one that’s a dick. So what is it? Huh? What did I do to personally offend you _so badly_ that you feel the need to be an asshole to me whenever I’m in your fucking proximity?”

 

Dean’s mouth opened and shut a few times, but he couldn’t think of something good to reply. Sam raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, waiting for an answer.

 

The look on Sam’s face only infuriated Dean more. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. “Maybe you’re just a sensitive little bitch,” He mumbled.

 

Sam threw his arms up. “Fine. You know what, fix it yourself. I’m done.” He grabbed at the door and threw it open, walking out.

  
Dean rose quickly and chased after him. “Sam! Get back here,” He snapped.

 

Sam turned and flipped him off. “No, thanks. I’d rather not be verbally assaulted when I’m just trying to help. I’m just a by-the-hour jack-off, right? So I can get up and walk away whenever I want.” With that he turned back and continued storming down the hallway.

 

“Come on, Sam! I didn’t mean it like that!” Dean could hear doors opening; people were overhearing and staring by this point. “You gotta fix this thing!”

 

Sam turned again, nearly at the stairs. “Why should I?” He called down the hall.

 

Dean stood awkwardly a moment, unsure what to say. He looked up, finding Sam’s eyes even with the distance between them. “Please? I’m dyin’ here, man. The heat is making me snappier than I should be, I’m being a bastard. Please come fix it?” If shouting didn’t work, maybe begging would.

 

The pleading seemed to work, Sam heaved a big sigh and started walking back towards Dean, whose shoulders slumped in relief. He walked back into his office when Sam was close, leaving the door open for him.

 

What Dean didn’t expect once Sam entered and office and closed the door was to be spun around by a hand on his shoulder. And he definitely didn’t expect the fist that smashed his lips to his teeth, snapping his head backwards.

 

Sam’s hand loosened on Dean’s shoulder when he stumbled back, leaving him to end up on his ass, holding his bleeding mouth. “What the fuck was that for?!” Dean snapped.

 

“For being a selfish prick! You think you can sweet talk me and say please I’m just gonna let it all go? No, you’ve been an asshole to me since day one and I’m not going to let that crap go. You can’t blame it on the heat, you’re just a jerk.”

 

Only when he’d finished speaking, sweat pouring down his face, did Dean dare move from the floor. He rose slowly, wiping his mouth and grimacing at the blood. He spat a mouthful of red spit into the trashcan.

 

“You loosened my tooth,” He mumbled.

 

Sam snorted, “Really? Wow, Dean, that’s your take away? You really are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

 

Dean leaned his hip on the desk, staring at Sam from across the room. He crossed his arms in front of his chest but stayed tense, ready to defend himself if Sam decided to swing at him again, but Sam didn’t move. He mirrored Dean’s actions, crossing his arms and leaning on the wall across from him.

 

“Can you please fix the air conditioning?”

 

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes deeply. “Fucking jerk.” He mumbled, but walked over to the tools. He crouched, finding the ones he needed and rose, beginning to work on the air conditioning once more. Dean stayed where he was, Sam’s prior words echoing in his head.

 

After nearly ten minutes of silence, save for the sound of the tools, Dean cleared his throat. “Do you want some water? I’ve got a fridge so it’s cold.”

 

Sam glanced back at him, his eyebrows raised. “You’re offering me something?”

 

“I’m not a dick, Sam.”

 

Sam snorted, “Coulda fooled me.”

 

Dean sighed and rose, opening his fridge. He stuck his hand in and began to swear. “Fucking, motherfucking stupid goddamnit fucking heat!” He kicked the fridge and glowered at it.

 

“Um… Care to share with the class, Dean?” Sam asked softly from the wall.

 

“Fucking fridge is out!” Dean snapped, kicking it again.

 

“Calm down, kicking it isn’t going to make it any better.” Sam said softly. He set the tools down and approached the mini fridge, pulling it out and wiggling his large body behind it. He pulled at a few things. “I can fix this.” He said, his voice muffled by the machine.

 

“You can?” Dean asked hopefully. Sam wiggled his way out, his shirt hiking up under his arms to give Dean a peek at his muscular stomach. He bit back a shudder.

 

“Dude, you’re ripped, what’s your regimen?”

 

Sam stood, fixing his shirt and flattening his hair. “What?”

 

“Your diet, your workout schedule. You’re in the best shape I’ve seen in a long time.”

  
Sam shrugged and looked down at himself. “Oh, I um…” He shrugged and leaned down, snagging a water from the fridge. “I don’t really have one.”

 

“Seriously? What do you eat?”

 

“Pizza and salads sometimes. Usually whatever I can afford. I walk a lot of places, if that’s anything.”

 

Dean snorted, taking his own water and leaning on the desk. “I’d kill for a body like that.”

 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Come on, you can’t be too unhealthy.” He stepped forward and placed his hand on Dean’s stomach, sliding it up to his chest. “You’re pretty ripped yourself.”

 

Dean’s throat clicked, the air in the room suddenly becoming a few degrees hotter and more humid. “I uh… I just—A lot of detox.” He stumbled over the words, his eyes finding their way to Sam’s pink mouth.

 

Sam pulled his hand away and opened the bottle, chugging it. Dean’s eyes still didn’t leave Sam’s mouth, watching the way his lips curled around the opening, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallowed, small droplets of sweat rolling down his neck with the motion. This was a goddamned porno in his office.

 

Dean cleared his throat, standing straight and going around to his chair. He sat heavily and scooted in before opening the bottle, eager to hide the erection he knew would be very visible in his slacks.

 

He still couldn’t take his eyes off Sam, however, and forgot how to breathe when Sam smiled at him. “Thanks for the water.” He said, holding up the now empty bottle. He tossed it into the garbage and walked back to the air conditioner, picking up where he’d left off. “I’ll fix the fridge after I finish this,” He called to Dean, not looking at him.

 

“Yeah, yeah cool,” Dean breathed, taking in Sam’s ass.

 

This was bad. This was so bad. The guy was crazy – he’d punched Dean not half an hour ago. Not to mention, he thought Dean was a jerk. Conflicted, Dean turned in his chair, trying to focus on the stupid spreadsheets once more.

 

Both men shouted in relief when the cold air came blasting through the vents of the office.

 

“You did it!” Dean exclaimed. Sam smirked a little, shrugging,

 

“Told you I could. I’ll start on that fridge now.” He headed over to the fridge and pulled it out more, crawling behind it.

 

Though the air was on and it was cooling off quickly, Dean was still sweating. Of course the excellent view on the floor by his desk was probably the cause of that.

 

Sam’s shirt was pushed up again, showing that perfect stomach. Dean could now linger on it, noticing the trail of dark hair that led from Sam’s lickable belly button down into his slacks. Letting his eyes trail a little farther proved to be even more of a problem; he could see the bulge that couldn’t be anything but the outline of Sam’s cock in a pair of briefs. God, he looked huge.

 

His spreadsheets were quickly forgotten: Dean was fantasizing Sam bending him over any available surface and fucking his brains out, heat be damned. Getting sweaty wouldn’t be so bad if he could feel that body on top of him.

 

Dean was still staring at Sam’s body fifteen minutes later when the fridge kicked on. Sam crawled out, forcing Dean to look away or be caught staring.

 

“Fixed.”

 

“Thanks, Sam,” Dean said, embarrassed about his earlier outburst. He could still feel where Sam had punched him, and knew it had to be swelling something awful by now. But he knew he’d deserved it.

 

Sam shrugged and rose, dumping his tools into the box and closing it. “Gotta go, there’s a few more offices to fix up,” He said, opening the door.

 

Dean rose quickly, knowing this was his only chance to say what he needed to get out, “Hey, Sam—“

 

Sam stopped in the doorway, looking back, “Yeah?”

 

“I um… I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner with me sometime?”

 

Sam’s face drooped, his eyes narrowing. He began to laugh, startling Dean.

 

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked, feeling exposed.

 

Sam shook his head, still laughing.

 

“Save it for the health club, pal,” He said before walking out and leaving Dean standing dumbstruck.

 

Dean slumped down in his chair, defeated and humiliated. He had assumed Sam was gay, why had he assumed that? God, he was an idiot. He’d been a complete ass every time they’d met, what the hell made him think Sam would accept a dinner invite?

 

With a resigned sigh, Dean turned back to his computer, filling out the rest of the spreadsheets, though his mind was elsewhere.

 

 

Dean was packing his belongings into his briefcase at five thirty, preparing to go home and take a long shower and curl up in bed with an entire tub of ice cream – diet be damned. He’d have to stop and buy ice cream first, of course. And beer. A lot of beer. Maybe whiskey.

 

He was still humiliated from earlier, and wanted to drown those emotions in as much bad crap as he possibly could.

 

A knock sounded at his door, pulling him from his self-pity. “It’s open,” He called, assuming it was one of his coworkers, probably inviting him for drinks or to talk to him about something work related.

 

He didn’t look up until he heard the soft throat clearing. When he did, he nearly fell over. Sam was standing in his doorway.

 

“I realized I forgot to give you my address,” He said simply, walking in and dropping a piece of paper in front of Dean. An address and phone number were scrawled on it.

 

“You can pick me up at eight,”

 

Sam said and walked out, leaving Dean with a dumbstruck expression on his face… And a whole lot of planning to do in two hours.


End file.
